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patchworkgargoyle · 11 months ago

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oc fic: freaks to the front

For @strangerthingsocweek!! This isn't the first idea I had, and I wrote it in a rush, but hopefully it's fun.

You all might get sick of me and Dominik by the end of this week tbh, but too bad.

Pairing: transmasc OMC x Unnamed Freak || Rating: T for language || Words: 1,192 || Tags/Side Characters: Canon setting, post-season 4, Kali Prasad and her crew, Dustin Henderson, Jeff, and Gareth. Title from Freaks to the Front - Amyl and the Sniffers, mostly for the Freak reference and also for the vibes.

When Kali had told him they had to go help her sister, Dominik hadn’t imagined this.

Spending a couple days on the road to drive through Indiana to get to a shitty little town? Easy. Dodging past a military blockade? Fucking concerning, but not that different from evading police. Seeing ash fall from unsettlingly dark clouds that flashed with red lightning? Well past concerning and right into what the fuck is happening?

Kali sat in the front passenger seat of the van, staring intensely out the windshield as she told Funshine where to go, apparently getting directions from her telepathic sister named Eleven, of all things. Dom had seen a lot in his short time with Kali, he knew all about her strange powers, but he hadn’t heard the whole, basic rundown of her story until now.

Figures that the government would be running shitty experiments on little kids. That the experiments worked was still wigging him the fuck out.

“Turn left,” Kali said, and the van veered around a corner, jolting and rocking over some rubble, knocking Dom off-kilter and into the wall with a metallic thud. Axel whooped, loud in the crowded space, Dottie cackling from the floor, and Dom just glared at them. He looked to Mick, who was watching the tiny town speed by with a serious frown.

“What’s going on out there?” he asked, and Mick shook her head.

“Hard to tell. Kali, where are we going?”

“El said some of her friends are in trouble, asked us to pick them up on our way,” she said calmly, before giving another direction. Funshine sped up.

“I hope they aren’t more brats like she was,” Axel grumbled, and Mick shot him a look.

Dom craned around to look out the tiny window by his head and saw a crumbling building whiz by. “This place looks like a fucking warzone,” he said under his breath, hearing Mick hum in agreement.

Kali glanced into the back. “We’re close. Dottie, get ready to open the door, El says to watch out, and that guns won’t hurt it, only push it back.”

“It? What do you mean, ‘it?’” Dom asked, sounding more shrill than he’d admit, but the van barreled over more debris and interrupted anyone who might’ve poked fun. His heart raced in his throat when Kali told Funshine to speed up, and for the first time since he’d been kicked out of his home, Dom regretted throwing himself in with these maniacs.

“Get ready,” Kali commanded, and Dom’s hand clenched around the handle of his machete. Dottie clung to the door handle next to him, ready to whip it open, and Axel and Mick braced, guns at the ready anyway.

Tires screeched, Dom tensed, and the door whipped open. He launched himself out of the van, brandishing his machete, shouting at the five people he spotted immediately. “Get in!”

All five looked at him. Or, four of them did. It was only when he had a chance to pause that he saw the fifth was way too tall and didn’t have a fucking face. It was a maw of teeth and flesh surrounded by… petals, or something, and his skin crawled just looking at this—this monster. In real fucking life.

Then it roared, or screamed, sounding like a chainsaw on crack, and absolute disbelief was the only thing that kept him from fleeing from the thing in terror as the sound of it pierced his eardrums and made his hair stand on end.

“The fuck is that!?” Axel screeched.

“Demogorgon!” one of the actual humans said, and Dom was shaken from his fear when he realized he was a child.

“Like fucking Dungeons and Dragons!?” Dom yelled, and the kid gave him a surprised look before shouting at the other guys as he raced to the van.

The monster roared again and tried to follow, but Mick and Axel started shooting, bullets not even piercing its sickly grey, leathery skin. But the impacts distracted it, knocked it back, and Dom motioned for the kid to haul ass and praying to a god he didn’t believe in that that thing wouldn’t recover too quickly.

The kid barreled past with a slight limp, shouting at the other guys as they scrambled into action. When he reached the van, Dottie hauled the kid inside, getting out of the way for the others. Two clambered in, but not before the monster got its bearings, straightening up as he heard the telltale click of a pistol out of ammo. Shit.

The shortest, a floppy-haired guy, spat fuck fuck fuck fuck as he ran. Shaking its awful, disgusting head, the thing walked, and then picked up speed. Dom backed up to the van and said, “Kali, do something!”

“I’m trying,” she hissed.

Of course, right then, the guy tripped. Dom darted forward on instinct and snagged his hand, yanking at him as he flailed for balance.

But the monster was on them.

Shouting, “Go, go, fucking go,” Dom hauled them both backwards into the van. His legs hit the floor, he toppled back, and strong hands grabbed his arms and pulled him and the floppy-haired guy clung to each other in a blind panic.

The monster lashed out, one massive clawed hand raking down the guy’s leg before grabbing his ankle. He screamed, and Dom acted without thinking. He kicked, teeth bared in a furious grimace, steel-toed boot colliding wetly with the meaty, tooth-filled hole that passed for a mouth. Someone yanked the machete out of his hand and started chopping at the thing’s arm as he kept brutally kicking out.

Tires squealed and spun until they caught on the pavement and the van lurched into motion just as the monster let go with a wounded, wailing gurgle. The person behind him pulled Dom and the guy further in and Dottie slammed the door closed, leaving that horror in the dust.

The van was quiet except for the road of the engine and everyone’s panicked breathing. Dom blinked, realizing that Axel and Mick were still by the door. Who the hell had gotten them in the van?

Dom looked back and came face to face with the biggest of the four guys. His pretty blue eyes were still wide with fear, but he was looking back at Dom, darting over his face, inevitably glancing at all his piercings before pausing at the ones in his lips just a touch too long. When Dom’s jaw dropped in surprise, the guy blushed and looked away.

His usual recklessness reared up, fueled by the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Thanks for the save, darling,” he purred, smirking, and the guy’s face flushed an even deeper red.

“Dominik, can you not be a slut for one minute?” Axel sneered, and Dom just flipped him off, still watching the cute guy’s face as he tried to look at anyone but Dom. Oh, he was cute, and Dom thought he might have fun in this shithole called Hawkins after all. Aside from the fucking monsters.

The floppy-haired guy put an end the awkward pause. "Could someone please do something about my leg?"

#if anyone's curious they were going out looking for eddie :D #strangerthingsocweek #goth babygirl dom #freak #freakdom #(haven't used that tag in a bit!)#kali #dustin henderson #stranger things #ficlet #ocs aweigh #niko's notes

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wronglennon · 3 months ago

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i love vapor rub she’s like the kindly sister of amyl nitrates

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macbethheadband · 1 month ago

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Amyl and the sniffers song playing over a camogie match in the new bad sisters. They knew id be watching.

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djshannonigans · 2 months ago

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Radio Clash on Newtown Radio, 11.17.25

Hosted by DJ Shannonigans

Living Colour - "Cult of Personality"

Gil Scott-Heron - "The Revolution Will Not Be Television"

Fela Kuti - "Water No Get Enemy"

The Lijadu Sisters - "Come On Home"

The Standells - "Dirty Water"

ELO - "Mr. Blue Sky"

The Darkness - "The Longest Kiss"

Squid - "Crispy Skin"

Skeggs - "High Beaming"

Fickle Friends - "Feral"

Nation of Language, Classixx - "Weak In Your Light (Classixx remix)"

Cold Beat - "Double-Sided Mirror"

The Cure - "I Can Never Say Goodbye"

The Cure - "And Nothing Is Forever"

Coldplay - "The Scientist"

Kid Fears - "Say"

Sharon Van Etten - "Afterlife"

Bartees Strange - "Lie 95"

Father John Misty - "She Cleans Up"

Sweeping Promises "Eraser"

The Linda Lindas - "Once Upon A Time"

Amyl and the Sniffers - "U Should Not Be Doing That"

Mannequin Pu$$y - "I Got Heaven"

Sprints - "Feast"

Jess Ribeiro - "The Trees And Me"

#djshannonigans #radioclash #djshannonigans radioclash #newtownradio

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qnewsau · 5 months ago

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Metal singer belts out screamo Britney cover on The Voice

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/metal-singer-belts-out-screamo-britney-cover-on-the-voice/

Metal singer belts out screamo Britney cover on The Voice

17-year-old metal singer Mol Turner from Wollongong delivered a screamo rendition of Britney Spears’ Toxic on The Voice Australia last night.

The teenage singer got a chair turn from judge Kate Miller-Heidke as well as a standing ovation from all four coaches.

Judge Adam Lambert said, “That was so much fun, I fully got a kick out of that. I thought that was so interesting.

“I know the screamo thing isn’t necessarily the most mainstream genre, especially for a girl to be doing. I’m proud of you for getting up there and flexing your muscles.”

Guy Sebastian added that he’s “never seen anything like that” during his time on The Voice and didn’t turn because he wasn’t sure how he could coach her.

youtube

But it was Kate Miller-Heidke who hit her buzzer, and said there are longstanding similarities between opera – in which she was first trained – and metal. She said divisiveness, drama and raw emotion is needed to make both genres work.

“That was so delightful and surprising. I may not have been the coach that you would’ve gone for. But I feel like this is a great match,” she said.

“I feel really, really excited about working with you and I can’t wait to choose songs together. It’s going to be so fun.”

Mol Turner didn’t think The Voice would accept her

Singer Mol Turner said she’s so proud to be the first “extreme metal” vocalist on The Voice stage.

“Truth me told, I applied as a joke thinking what I do would never be deemed ‘talented’ enough to actually make it to The Voice stage amongst pop, country and R&B singers but here we are lmao,” she wrote on Instagram.

“Metal & HXC have defined who I am & in a lot of ways saved my life throughout the past 7 years. This music means absolutely everything to me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Mol performs in local band Clueless and says Amyl and the Sniffers’ Amy Taylor is a huge inspiration.

The teenage singer borrowed a three-word phrase from Amy to respond to those describing her Voice performance as “satanic” and “talentless”.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by mol turner (@moltrnr)

The Voice Australia airs Sunday, Monday and Tuesday nights on Channel 9 and 9Now.

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

#britney spears #pop music #Queer TV

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djmossback · 7 months ago

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Third Space Saturday

05/18/2024

The tracks

Shannon, Let The Music Play (LP cut)

LondonBeat, I’ve Been Thinking About You (12” cut)

Average White Band, Pick Up The Pieces (LP cut)

Bobby Brown, Don’t Be Cruel (12” cut)

The Clash, Rock The Casbah (7” single)

Kate Bush, Sat In Your Lap (7” single)

Go-Go’s, We Got The Beat (7” single)

Prince, I Wanna Be Your Lover (7” single)

Cameo, Word Up (12” cut)

Tears For Fears, Change (7” single)

L.L. Cool J, Big Ole Butt (12” cut)

Berlin, The Metro (7” single)

Human League, The Sound Of The Crowd (LP cut)

Heatwave, The Groove Line (7” single)

Killing Joke, Follow The Leader (LP cut)

Cheryl Lynn, Got To Be Real (7” single)

Anita Ward, Ring My Bell (Midnight Mix by Richie Rivera) (12” cut)

Fatback, Just Be My Love (LP cut)

Climax Blues Band, Couldn’t Get It Right (7” single)

Gorillaz, Clint Eastwood (12” cut)

Hot Chocolate, Every 1’s A Winner (LP cut)

Michael Jackson, Rock With You (7” single)

Missing Persons, Words (Mini-LP)

Wham, Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go (7” single)

Dazz Band, Let It Whip (7” single)

Pointer Sisters, He’s So Shy (7” single)

Bay City Rollers, Saturday Night (7” single)

Ready For The World, Oh Sheila (7” single)

S.O.S. Band, Take Your Time (Do It Right) (7” single)

Junior, Mama Used To Say (12” cut)

Commodores, Brick House (12” cut)

Pet Shop Boys, West End Girls (12” cut)

Bee Gees’, In My Own Time (LP cut)

Naked Eyes, Promises, Promises (7” single)

A Taste Of Honey, Boogie Oogie Oogie (LP cut)

David Bowie, Let’s Dance (7” single)

Marcia Griffiths, Electric Boogie (12” cut)

Dillinger, Cokane In My Brain (7” single)

The Police, Roxanne (7” single)

Iggy Pop, I’m Bored (7” single)

ZZ Top, I Thank You (LP cut)

Vince Staples, Norf Norf (LP cut)

Soho, Hippychick (12” cut)

Thin Lizzy, Don’t Believe A Word (LP cut)

Skee-Lo, I Wish (12” cut)

DEVO, Freedom Of Choice (7” single)

Joy Division, These Days (12” cut)

Amyl & The Sniffers, Some Mutts (Can’t be muzzled) (7” single)

Judas Priest, Metal Gods (LP cut)

Deee-Lite, Groove Is In The Heart (12” cut)

The Romantics, Talking In Your Sleep (7” single)

B.T. Express, Do It (‘til You’re Satisfied) (7” single)

Junior Murvin, Police & Thief (7” single)

Exile, Kiss You All Over (7” single)

Laid Back, White Horse (12” cut)

Kylie Minogue, Can’t Get Blue Monday Out Of My Head (12” cut)

Roots Manuva, Again And Again (12” cut)

Kendrick Lamar, Pride (LP cut)

Tasting Notes

Plan? Of course I had no plan. I wanted to integrate a lot of new records into the set, to set things up differently, and not rely on the “crutch” records I usually play. I had the afternoon to myself, and I spread things out and considered my options. I have been acquiring a lot of 12” records in the past few months, obscure and legendary. Mostly second hand. Mostly cheap. Those records are plentiful right now. So I loaded the crate with some of them. I like to hear stretched out versions, but not always. Sometimes I just like the sound of them, which is their utility. Of course, the trouble with vintage records is that if they are any good, they are worn out, often to the point of being unlistenable. I’ve been disappointed many times, but there is always something else to play.

I ended up changing out about 60% of my LP crate, but only about a quarter of my 7” singles. I did limit myself to one container of each. Which is a good way to induce focus.

I pack up the car and head down. I have a level of apprehension about this gig. The regular crew I had grown used to was all gone, and there were new people there, and I didn’t know them. I used to use the bar staff to play off, and now things were going to be different. Of course, I had played there the month before, but I shared the night with the Dryden Brothers, Retronaut and IGA. And that was cool. I arrived late and left early. But that time I didn’t take the elevator, and since I was so out of my routine it didn’t feel real.

I made it a point to get there early, so I could feel what the vibe was. The elevator was unresponsive, but that issue worked its way out quickly. I get to the booth and there are light controllers everywhere and a new monitor arrangement. I get myself prepared.

I start right at 9. I have several opening songs set up, but I go with the Shannon track just because it states the theme, “let the music play.” And that is what I do. One song to another. Seeing what feels right. I play some of my usual records in a different place, which makes me feel different, and leads to different outcomes. I realize that most of the people in the bar have no idea what thought goes into the presentation. I don’t say this to be self-aggrandizing. I am there, doing a job,that I can do well sometimes. And it does make me happy to see people react, even though they largely are unaware that a human being is providing the soundtrack for the space.

Garrett is responsible for the light controllers in the booth. They set up the installations around the bar, and they look amazing. In his spare time he checks IDs at the door. And juggles.

Speaking of the bar, it seems to have regained some of its mojo after the blows it has sustained this year so far. There are some larger than expected crowds rolling in throughout the night. My son shows up. There are a bunch of people he knows from Borah High in the house, and a few of them have come up to make themselves known before Sam even shows up. He’s on the town. Stays for a while, comes up and discusses the records I’m selecting. He heads out, goes over to the Electric Banana.

There is a volume complaint. I’m not insulted at all. It’s hard to gauge how loud the various corners around the bar can be. Records are all cut differently.

Beth, the new bar manager, comes up for a drink order, and I introduce myself. Later she tells me that she loved the set. That reassures me. One of my goals is to help the staff get through an evening, and play my role in the process. This is a business, not a clubhouse, and I am totally okay with it. You can be friendly with your audience, but they are not your friends. Mystery and distance are your friends. Leave them wanting more.

I’m glad to be there doing this thing that I have done for a good portion of my life. I don’t need friends there, even though I’m friendly with people. I’m there at a job, and I will continue to do it as long as they want me.

So, the plan? I did okay with it. I shifted things around, played the Roots Manuva 12” that Brion managed to track down for me. Also got Dillinger’s “Cokane in My Brain” worked in. Lots of 7” records. Did not play Sleaford Mods at all – maybe I’ll play them twice next time.

Next Third Space Saturday is June 15th, 2024. 2100 hrs is go time.

Thanks for reading.

#vinyl records.#djmossback #barcade #music #djlife #vinyl #spacebar arcade

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parkerbombshell · 1 year ago

Link

#bombshellradio #DennistheMenace #dj #justanothermenacesunday #melodicrock #radioreplay #radioshow #today #TuneInRadio #Alternative #Interview #rock

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slovenlyrecordings · 2 years ago

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Look at alla deez crazy records just in at Slovenly USA!

That dream tour with The Whiffs an' Paint Fumes we yakked about recently ain't booked yet, but both of their new LPs are here...

LOADS MO' TOO!

THE DOGS "Teen Slime" (GREEN vinyl) LP

WASTELAND "Want Not" EP 7"

PRETTY BOY FLOYD & THE GEMS "Sharon / The Instigator" 7”

CRAMP "Suzy Lie Down" 7”

THE CYBERMEN "You're To Blame / It's You I Want" 7"

CYBERMEN "S/T" EP 7"

TRACKS "Brakes On You" (WHITE vinyl) LP

STARFIRES "I Never Loved Her" (RED vinyl) 7"

AMYL AND THE SNIFFERS "Big Attraction & Giddy Up" LP

CRAMPS "New York Live 1979" (ORANGE vinyl, 180 gram) LP

HOLLY GOLIGHTLY "Truly She Is None Other" (WHITE vinyl) LP

HEADCOATEES "Punk Girls" LP

HEADCOATEES "The Sisters Of Suave" LP

HEADCOATS, THEE "Headcoatitude" (YELLOW vinyl) LP

HUNX AND HIS PUNX "Too Young To Be In Love" LP

NEW YORK DOLLS "S/T" (RED vinyl) LP

MISFITS "Static Age" LP

GRAM PARSONS "Grievous Angel" LP (180 gram)

JAY REATARD "Blood Visions" LP (Reissue)

VARIOUS ARTISTS "Girls In The Garage Volume 8" (PINK vinyl, LTD. hand numbered) LP

VELVET UNDERGROUND "White Light/White Heat" (WHITE vinyl) LP

MUMMIES "Tales From the Crypt" LP

GEE TEE "Live N' Dangerous II" (PURPLE vinyl) LP

TWITCH "Dark Years" (Random Colored vinyl, LTD.) LP

OSEES "Levitation Sessions I" (GOLD vinyl) LP + 7"

OSEES "Levitation Sessions II" (Crimson Smoke Castle Face Edition) (2xLP)

PINHEAD GUNPOWDER "Compulsive Disclosure" (GREEN vinyl) LP

SUBURBAN LAWNS "S/T" LP

PAINT FUMES "Real Romancer" LP

WHIFFS "Scratch 'N' Sniff" LP

WHIFFS "Another Whiff" LP

Back in stock:

THE DALEKS "O.K." 7”

DRIVE "Jerkin'" 7"

BRENTWOODS "Do The Bug With Me" 7"

GORIES "You Little Nothing" (YELLOW vinyl) 7"

SUBSONICS "Frankenstein" 7"

DELMONAS "Do The Uncle Willy" LP (GREEN vinyl)

HEADCOATEES, THEE "Ballad Of The Insolent Pup" LP (Red Vinyl)

MIGHTY CAESARS, THEE "Beware The Ides Of March" LP

MIGHTY CAESARS, THEE "Wiseblood" LP

MILKSHAKES, THE "Talking 'bout... Milkshakes" LP

SUBSONICS 'Everything Is Falling Apart' LP

VARIOUS ARTISTS "Beat On The Krauts Vol. 3" LP

VARIOUS ARTISTS "Desperate Rock 'N" Roll Vol. 21" LP

VARIOUS ARTISTS "Scum Of The Earth Vol. 1" LP

#slovenlydistro #mailorder #vinylrecords #vinyls #records #7inchsingle #7inchvinyl #7inches #whiffs #paintfumesnyc #osees #the cramps #velvet underground #Jay Reatard #amyl and the sniffers #gee tee #misfits #headcoatees

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riverrunpasteveandadams · 2 years ago

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(itty bitties thickiodai all a willy wonker could fixate upon

or fuck with or over-deliberate mixes on mixes

glistening kiss wasted time fixes at face value

all under and no rutger delineated richer)

weather pack of marlboro 100’s would materialize

outta of thin air or we just happened upon a gang

of sisters going our way with just enough room for the lot

burbon boon docks out there in the emerald dixies fixities

bonnie & laud whos father was working

wistfully willy with the police k-nine duckdog coppers

robbers too they were

even shaking the bullbury whistlers down

for the smallest nickle of the smallest

bowlpack this side of st.strawberrys

forever wine wis-constainteeming with time

the lost blue barrel-rolls & owsley’s two timings

that we saw back there on vanderbelt & whistley

phantoms in the street flickering light posts

at witching hour once again

osolate accordion gideons copy

in the drawer at the motel six

to which we find ourselves amist

with comradery libation

mixes in with ginger speckled spots of opal rovers

royalties steely as they were bronzen

breezen with the look of a holy man

that hasnt slept in days with cheerful spritzer

up to not sleep again tonight

are you willing doctor?

(15)

not much on the tele

sitting quietly smoking in the deli

last of the coffee

last nickel on the paper

only option now is to wait for the check to clear next tuesday

to the slow dissonant hum

of one lonely saxophone in an alley a couple blocks away

down by the liquor store

when i lived on vanderbelt

the man inside used to sell laced tobacco cigarettes

his iranian family owned that store for generations

& in the basement they would always keep

a small table for the hasiche smokers

as well as the card players

and way in the back

a little broom-closet for the working girls

seasonal caricatures

where is your one room hideaway

your cigarette paradise

where is your thinly veiled chamber

the veneer of shallow lighting

slowly peeling away at the unforgiving day

pleasing the night walks come

still in star-twinkling amnesia like qualities

wandering circles around the corridor

unseen flashing phosphorus crawling in the courtyard

playing with forces and fae by sigil

then candle-light

& smoking mirror

(2)

every pixel transfigured

enigmafied friend

E.T. phone home, do you read me

E.T. completely

infixtured by the night seascrolls

temporarily transported by

the fixtures of light

illuminated in every way

perhaps transfigured

at satiation trainyards

yonder birdlike

secret stations

lord i remember

easy though peezy perhaps

corrosive catering to the trivial

needs & laments of the zeitgeist

rolling thunder as they

were participating in

a protection rite with fire

testing testing one two three

said the operator on speed

here we go again

said the otter to the left

storm cloud tracers

tracy chapman on transistor radios

in the drivers seat on the freeway

back from south jersey

subway skylines

subletting subcities

hiccups from the anonymous hippopotamus

printed and pampered on postage

marked friend of the devil

return to sender

suddenly from stage left

the bender on 8th street

thats a wrap boys- cut

or so says the cabbie

dont listen to him

hes on amyls with a bad heart

spooks from the flop house

all haunt inn

(21)

the house on fire

whisper echoing

green books on green books

can you still believe its all for

green books and good acid

imported cargo

imp imported cargo

starting south

we begin in houston

ending in the mighty

congo river man

a half dozen arabian nights

now we begin the other way back

through caldonia manifolds tanquerayian

blocks and blocks of uninterupted garments

leather satchels containing el supremo

chickens feet for good luck

potions galore tiny inlet dwellings

candleside riddlers

nuancers necromancers

the layaway clairvoyant

bins of fish

every sort of fly ointment imaginable

caskets of dreams

cuban breezes chartreused and succumbed

to the tangier unmitigated lining

however riddled with folly

be it may

handing in stained yellow papers

to a circus in juan paris

stopping by to see johnny paria

at a small roadside attraction inlet

quickly as cowboy coffee induced mayhem midways

& chickens running around with

their heads chopped off

(26)

salmon glue

one of them shouted

a blessing in yiddish

that girl is poison poising itself

on the radio dial

just as we pull up to Tom’s diner

one cigarette for each of us

back at the remote outpost there in the desert

the camel back importers cargo carriers

were bringing a ton of red lebanese hashish

from a trade town just north of the border

we awaited them with mint tea that steeped

deep into the night

as well as

a gang of belly-dancers who’d been

flown in the night before

specifically for this occasion

the arrival of the red leb

patagonia

one of them exclaims

that was my dream lastnight of patagonia

tumbled down shack in big-foots it was

reading five verses of amazonian soplar literature

& suddenly it all flowed back

images of seraphim & sirena approaching

images of some of them muddy

others all dressed well in clean white clothing

down there the fixation then was moonshine

so every friday afternoon we would gather

preferably no less then a dozen of us

& drive out to houston paying twelve a cap

& with that we could haul enough back

to supply the entire county for a week

we did that every weekend for a decade

then reagan got elected and that was that

imported sugar cane or cherry flavored pop

was the only game in town

so the soliders surged on til dawn

when by bask morning-light through

velvet shade they did receive the call they

had been waiting for all this time

on a pink tele- it was louise

they were down at the terminal in westport

approximately 40 minutes by auto-bus

from our remote outpost somewhere in the dunes

between the frontier & egypts southern most point

in the babeloid region, also known as Valdez*

hectares beyond the thresholds of our jurisdiction

thus we were forced to rush in by stealth

(3)

REAL PEOPLE

TRUE STORIES

UNADULTERATED INSCRIPTION

reads the foney tabloid with

a crude pictograffiti of george bush

giving a rub and tug to a martian

on the white house lawn

hey now all good things in all good time

he said sardonically lighting up a spliff and passing

to the left

right in the time net before the scheduled entry

into the trading panel

we had used up mostly all of our uppers on hand

during the brief but intense flash with the pirates

at new guinea

all the variants of drug addled crux dividers walked through

these ports at at some ragged wretched time or another

however twisted or undistinguished from the periphery

slimey toadstools & the barways walked through by tangeria

hotel babblers, mind mice and the seething soup seekers

of muck and littered propheticus

casitas burden the bourbon-bury mind sippers

like the ghosts of amulet bearing pirates

looking lately into obsidian sunglass mirrors

& the cheers-mates divides found in friar field vietnam

sinking ships & brand new quicksilver salamanders

who poisoned themselves back into

the clotted timestream by

hookwink & soft-pond tactics alone

the souls of lost sailors & dead shaman

sandbank dealers & a new orleans maiden-like hierarchy

holy-week brandish of sacred markers &

makers of witchcraft devised by KFC confessionals

with long-lines & tokes of datura in the middle-school-lunch

cafeteria waiting line lego rooms

filled with outrageous

arabic geometry signature

in their natures seething like

broken spanish entities

in subliminal outake

(5)

an outline of hegemony

here in the world as it were

or was back there in the hotel rooms

at san luis cooped up on speed

who was looking out the window

and through the bubble-gummer

or cowboy boot wearer

what have you

but you know

suddenly i felt the sudden urge

to articulate the experience

and thus here we are

gathered around a window

sunshining freshlhy

albiet were all smoking

and talking over one another

how exciting caffeine tends to the nerves

to the ninth degree until second hour

if i wasnt in my right mind

i might say we have a gracyth lace

of the old go fast in there somewhere no?

a tar spirit wedged beneath the tandem spirits

so tender & wavingly at lengthful & grateful

transmigration of a phoenix

involved in certain spiritual states

including psychosis

we decided it was better to disguise

the acid casualties as clowns

to better move them discreetly from

our distant quarters in the non local sanctuaries

of psychotomimetic antiquity vis-a-vis

the grizzled backbury peyote deserts

of the mid classical maya

until recently this was somewhat

of a simple procedure

new blockades were placed at powerspots

encrypted punto tecalotes guarding all

of our most trusted cardinal points

and thus we hired the specialist

el coyote

the modality was as factual as

we could possibly write in

to the bloody script to begin with

gesturing towards the ticket booth

blargzeebubbed both whispering so quiet and free

buzzed of delineated cheap coffee echoing

the ugly whims of burroughs vis a vis

the tangier hashish jelly saga

we made sure to dial in our woes

to the receptor cite

no matter how many times we hit

the croacher as as hard as we possibly could

for days on end unrelenting the charge hold

give it another minute or integer

shell load in undoubtful

smacked the lips of the tender

still sipping on hiccups and barbury fumbling

with banknotes and letters of a long exiled

main street

(24)

loud typewriters clicks designs

im sitting there at toms diner, go figure

the lightning aint so bad after-all

cuppa joe & a side of toast

thanks betty stelmer

we went to high-school together

back in those days

sandstone slippers & a lovely young lady

named sandy preference whisky bourbon rye

so we took our chances in a cadillac

and headed towards tangier way

hashish castles there

so says the latter

black velvet in its entirety

the whole ways home

somewhere in that hotel lobby

smokey as it was blessed

someone complained about the speed jitters

over-sensitized now cant concentrate he complained

whole lobby sweeps silence

a pin drops

stopping for gas they go ahead

& pickup a hitcher

calls himself phantom 309

fits in with our troop just fine

someone call sampson

somebody shouted

from a half a block over

weve got ourselves a real

space-case over here, okay?

(10)

it started as a simple food and whiskey mission

and water too, but we’d forgotten

and soon after would have to double back

but no matter & nobody minded

it was a clear blue sky desert in surround

like the truman show or beetlejuice

we didnt question the script & ended up rolling

with the punches all the way back

to the tellers quarters

riffing off the midlife crisises of the

common-folk

fumbling with pennies & lint-like pocket minutea

pack of zigzags invokes laughter

& then the sound of choppers

war get to the chopper

claus hurry quick get to za choppa

the valley was clear and empty

there we’re people out there though

hiding in the daytime like coyotes

or used car martian lizard salesmen

from dallas

(1)

a private room &

the return to san luis

dreams of blown out station-wagons

on the outskirts of vegas

a jalapeno violin singing us

turpentine blues on a backbury bust

a bus inching towards the edge of frisco

someone asked him for a quarter

digging in pocket past

the lint and detritus

showing them off invoking them

back around he said

here ya go kid ya got a match?

they called him the contrarian

like a wino centaur

like a matchbox forgotten in an

old pair of crusty levis

like elvis’s outdated bottle

of port from michigan marked 1863

we didnt care and popped it open anyhow

one of us decided to take that

88’ oldsmobile down to the drugstore

for a box of vicks inhalers

we snatched up the last one lucky

took out the cotton

& threw it in the fire

blacktop singers

they snap their fingers

to the twinkling

of fallen starts

someone is playing the harp

down there on vine street

in the passengers seat of an oldsmobile

i think of her name was eighty-eight

i think someone stole the

freight-train liner

took it past smugglers cove

the only place they know we’ll never go

(23)

the band was hot so we danced

the famous merengue

then we darted back

now we fade to black

the was the sean shem

brother rivalry all over again

after not speaking for months

after christmas disaster

the mask of hallucinatory worry

and need not to worry

i know how these type of sharks work

and within the fortnight daggers daggard

their way through message totemologies

but lucky for us brushed with sunspots

in legacy power nigredos

sipping stiffly on walkabout cathedrals

and this was known so it as shown

in blows below the gut

the best we can do is an honest mockery

shipping into harbors wherein the lively

about couldnt come or refused to

or took methmolly for seven days

and turned green X

turned off text messages

blocking all archonic disruptions

influctions of geltab jelousies & romances

left back in durango shipping containers

with rapturous ecstasy we knew in our

hurting hearts the compost of

secret legacy lovers and runners

who long distantly woke up like mondo mike

fucking in pools of goats blood at tampa bay

or tagging hater in the first circle k

when you landed in vegas

neon scintilla crap tables abound

first wash was out there at baker

with the green magnet magnesium magnetism

lettered and walked in its way

foretold in sunspot illustration

all vectored solemnly&stiffly taken at face value

unable to domino sphincter cheers californian

her sandmarkers and miles of desert as feverish vision

bequeath riggamarole jerijuana stamp postages

lettering and lockinglitter bitter spitter offers

blotters left in antiquity blessedbe

then gets up to change the cantar

only to forget our placement in

the dreamery reading

or doubt what the hell river it was

that us or quetzalcoatl come here

to speak into existence

in the very first place

cigar breaks & walks around the savanna

layline boundaryside whisping up

memorium of the very first traversals

or the new yorkers dark night

we came here to amnesiate

(25)

it was spring & willy nilly was working with the yacuruna again

it was holy meat week & they required a sacrifice

either swine or foul

one in the same willy thought to himself

cutting off the end of a cigarette & handing it to the priest of the clan

this tradition has long run in the family for generation after generation

he muttered twistedly half smiling

& caressing his tiny precious portion of tobacco

all of the family’s priests & priestesses chanting

the ancient hymn

whoo amei damei yaa

taking turning flipping the dial on the radio

it was the only song that was broadcast for a thousand miles

& they played it on repeat until the morning light

every morning for forty days and forty nights

some of us tone deaf after some nights

not minding whatsoever and eventually

finding the ability to fall into trance

during the deep night psalms

flashbacks to burgers and fries

back there down in the city

the timestreams fanciful dishes

hashish from lebanon abound

martian radio stations dishing out info on

omlette russian-routlettes

taking it all in

willy at once in a buzzing storm

of confusion and confections of the city

wearing away at the teeth

gum-like bedbugs crawling at the skin of

various informants residences

with drugs hidden in baby formula

as the perfect disguise

and a cover up for the vicious gnawing craving for

possesions in pulsating-powders & arms

the screaming wheel of dervish

buzzing religious conviction both

within & exterior to the hypnagogic trances

of dreamlike phanthasma-phenomena

of its constant consumers

building silently

wave after wave of amnesiate understanding

plunders the mind crawling the coils &

a way out of existential invalid litter departments

put on hooks for hoots

& heavy ingestions put towards rethinking

cadavers in caravans

steeping mint tea excursions into the savanna

darkly scanning the midnight horizonal

hallucinatory ambidextrousness

looking into the aether for elephants who

possessed societies secret but learned to live outside

of it they were our masters and to them we would wildly

approach in prayer

veiled by secret integers & invisibility serums

slowly sipping in the cabana, awoken by wind

& the drifting siren of ancient chime and whirling dervish

immensities lost in the bubbling muck of disoriented history

(6)

the lady with the fan

she cools us

lady in the catacombs

zombie siren of kennedys spark

destruction is another form of creation

the immitigate uttered from

the gutteral depths of 57th st

shem dynasties aside

marijuanos on the hillside

god forbid its saints week

we settled up and gathered up

our rationed portions & put them

on the table out front

for everyone to see

five dollars a hit

okay so over a beer

we went there

not to say i feel exactly better

but real indeed alive

indeed refreshed to a degree

boo who

a damaged weakling defends itself

3 weeks after the fact

big whoop big whopper

the brother rivalry

an unmatched dynamic

(16)

asphyxiated on dandelion wine

oh mary oh jesus where do i even begin?

sun setting on an empire is that it?

speaking of instincts

the devils weak

beautiful express faces pass

in all the taxis of the world

back home cascadas, sleeping lamp giants

waiting in the precipice

its just a little ways she assured the others

whilst taking a giant ripper off the

pcp packaged spliff

how strange the scintilla

she barked before cutting

all her ties, quickly skipping town

& heading for the hills

back toward kensington ways

the midst, sand salamanders joking

in the juxtaposition of the roses

faced down and looking lightly through

the window cupboard shade covered veiling

the scintilla awaiting winter kingbury

whos bringing acid whos bringing crumpets

to a maddened tea party in the bushes

sparsely spacing out illiterate tantrums

from dross matter heiroglyphic opinions of our starbound selves

cardinal signal around & bounded to temporal fixies

immensities

heriphanies

lipid

a from riches to rags backstory

the boston ragga

dodging bullets left and right at infinitum

clever fox of the backbury

show your scales

reveal reveal reveal i say

set in holland 1945

ringing any bells yet?

what about saved by the bell? or frasier

or fran to tell us danger dances

apart from the static

there was the overplayed music

downgraded the bandwidth

of what just it was we couldnt say yet

we just had take a hint

then wait the usual 40 minutes for entrance

(19)

lets restart

friendly aesthetic near

the hillside depot

as they approach the trainyard hyponogogic

it is more then a hallucination

antiquity

oh my- broken good

who’s expertise?

todo todo bien

todo bien

it was the best we c u in asia

when i come you need

yes it could be okay

Lee RIbbenii

what- great environment

great

la grazia delle parole

yes indeed

yes indeed-

there we go

lets head south baby

(20)

they were cranking out pure kilos of grade A

japanese chach at per kilo pennies on the dollar

there was only one person mr.pink & me knew who

knew what to do with those kinda numbers

unfortunately he was taken out earlier

that december during an incident with the

cartels in a case of mistaken identity

up in reno

so we were then forced to move west

where folk we once considered kingpins

back home that is in vermont

had somehow blended had acquiesced here

like camouflage breaded butter X

fantasy island saloon,

platoons of vigor & servitude

all counted specially & coiled smooth

moves bequeath basket-cased

as it was nior’d

honored and learned nightly by sams steaks

taken up for some and down

for tuesday shmoosday others

rutgers, gushers, marx brothers

& exploding symbols heald

& inevolving within timberside seances

pixie as they were midnight

rose-garden fauna egyptian’d

(13)

Bagwhan shree rajneesh, one of nuns begins to blurt out-

nearly stuttering and other troublesome utterances

A seizure of tounges,

“The Bagwaan she went on,

bagwhaan shree! rajneesh, rajneeshy”

we let her go like this for around 40 minutes

before finally, at our wits end with zero alternatives left

we were forced to tied her up & at

4:30 AM eastern state time Sister Anne

of the Lutheran Church of Nazarene

was given a 500 MG shot of thorazine

directly into her jugular,

unconscious in seconds &

by the time she around rose shortly after

her condition returned to safely back to base-line

( we agreed to keep an eye on her during the

the table session’s with special attention

directed toward not allowing her to drink anymore

then a single cup of daime at a time )

it’s 10 AM on a friday,

new orleans shoppe window open,

a perfumery with side deals,

magic deals,

literal charms for sale as well as jasmine-

smoking in a bed, in a shed,

in a chevy chase canary paced place

some of us are melting in our own juices

who-hooo do you trust? blaring incessantly on the transistor

sitar, overpowering by the psilocybin-

Callet trailed, endless masks made by the scoupel-

written in dragons blood over the doorway

unwritten invisible coffee dates with

phantoms of english antiquity

Australian kangaroo salesmen,

ounces of bolivian marching powder sealed in a locked vessel

headed from panama across the atlantic on a three day journey

2 hostages, one illuminated port

in the dusty backbeat sagas of westports most infamous

& terrible dragstrip

officials crooked for hire, sidewalks in the customs office

we turned our heads to the Gods

a window opened from a black and yellow lit

parlor of the redlight indistinguishment sectors,

just a mile away from our stated destination

at the transatlantic sea-station

positioned in an outpost just north of the border,

we needed to make it past this kurdish checkpoint

before the dawn does-

(4)

these little town blues

these vagabond shoes

calling clown-like ambulances

leaving 17th & 57th

headed towards geronimo blvd

with broken arrow phone calls

glasses of water rusty spoons & Busch

delivery with deliverance

we had to pick up scooter from the lot first

before we caught the itching fix in the gyre

catcher in the ryer

like forever pushing totemic inches

past the blood-brain barrier

down there on 57th where the riversrun

with sludge veins full of muck

mindless scrolling machines allegedly

seen dishing out euphoria by the dozen-fold

so say our critics whos sweet sickness

is an itchy glaze of bologna for 50 cents a pop

all the way down to the houston-river

would we ever make it past

the black growling threshold guardians

of the ciudad or else find ourselves

lying before dumpsters worshipping

the dieties of alleyway

& sky fixture fractions

alike us on our run to score

the perfected effervescent illumination sagas

just west of hollywood

and the geronimo blvd highway makers

who marked a thousand lanes

to the left hand sight

a thousand to the right out of sight

a wad of hash for your time perfectedly churned

& paired with yelping cupful portions of

californian divinatory serums

seances bad sneakers and singers

albeit sneaking suspicions of hefty cuts

of the baby laxatives

within and around the chartreuse variants

of amyl & trimethylated leisure like

substantial inheritances

nuances shiver me timber tumblefuls

whopping past portions mailed from arkansas

to our doorsteps just in time before

the jiminy cricket-like creatures spring fourth

singing a dop-op

whos gonna carry me home?

aint got sense enough to leave that burbon alone

(11)

mixing medley in the middle with moon-light

shakey ground says the batter bear better then burroughs

into the psalmful leavings of arclights unknown

past the platoon stickers,

beyond the trash fences of romantic antiquity

the steam-files bull on and breed

betting 50 on a saulsbury steak

or some sort of chicken cutlet in the runner

left on revenge repeat

we sung ourselves a little song

& then backed away

packing everything neatly in the caravan mirage

in the shade or else taken back by

the ever present hallucinogenic hum

be it frog-juice or pellets

of jacksons best designer brand speed

easy now said the one with the ring

& two left facing shoes

now we dont want to get all carried away okay

but if we just splice out some sort of

small-time portion of the crumbcake

or perhaps make a brew with teatime feathers

oh the trusty teatime feathers

gets the whole gang of em up and atom

when the afternoon sun looms near the horizon

screw it day time or night

whenever she visits its a grand occasion

upwards towards the transmigrational highway

one of them belched

passing the tonic towards his left

picking something up in the periphery

something harbored like jasmine rice

something entangled like

rustys old tape recorder

-we would take it out to los angeles

& sitting by the river all the time

waiting for betty to get off work

then we could come home & show her

with rockabye sweet baby james on

& haight ashbury hashish jelly

of course she assumed

as she always does when we are in those states

trancelike as they were amoeboid

that this was a

perhaps the tangier go away

that would turn itself invisible like the rocks

the moment we arrived into town

shoreside was always the same with

these gingerbread mayhem invested thunderbirders

running around like headless cockatoos

except only this time

they decided to wear dress shoes

back at base they were preparing

for the mumification of who they could

not name in the telegram

none the less we decided to go with our mission

further into the frontier

of white speckled satiations

of unruly divide & conquering

all carefully making sure to

load our canteens to the brim with rum

before catching the ferry over

(12)

turning the gyre ever softer towards

the ridge of aeonic millennia

we gasped at blooming artificiality paradises

instantly upon time-stream arrival indextures

tens of thousands of miles streaming stratospheric

in the butte of a moments quickening

storming us by quicksilver secondaries

the hands of history,

fighting for informational eternity

brask, right up to the gullet in gears

fashioning the work-place

landmarked by leisure

still probing the market for the machina

still glittering down the line totemic

concession stands for the archbishop

at the island for eels

we couldnt believe

that they burnted themselves out so quickly

we all gathering our belongings

proceeded to high tail it

all the way down the line

either oklahomian or mexicana

hows the wife & kids

we meet everyday at the strange cafe

we meet at the strange cafe-time burial

burial time typewriter

typewritten in special membrane

the brain remembers its own name cleary

its wits vastly dialectic & innumerable

keeps encapsulated satiated

heaped on there- gnawingly

senile, almost tumeric distanced

bequeathed beneath the rosebury

sampling simple traces

environs & aardvarks alike

squeaky and tender as the bishop promised

going gargantuately into the gauntlet of life

lamenting over harms done

presuffixed and over time eventually delineated

to the slime like it was carnal

lime-light of west hollywood

with its fits and fashions phoenixed

egyptian magicd like the

chest cupboard kept in the hills

working on tantrums

tidal waves of them raving hysterical

maddened as dawn, streaky pink-eye horizonal

at colt-45 walkers in tango with disco-coppers

hot on the beat and hopped up on a thursday

for almost no real reason at all

as cept to scope, callin themselves the law

vigilante justice my ass

(8)

glamour professionals

by the rivers of babylon, its venice beach baby

writing scripts on napkins in indian ink,

kitchen sink showers (first memories of bathtime)

astoria, a hiccup in the rutter-

via confession by cinema side trails

sipping mango juice under polaris,

are we mister potter?

the imp confessional of antiquity

snicker from the right corner

flying anvils, galaxies of amnyls,

nitrates, glycerides

marketing techniques via tangier

& west congo conch fritter

picking up after dark

theres a fire inside the wind of the mind,

come walk with me alone, it says

now the whole gang of hyperdimensional

cast members gather tightly, close quarters

& hearing upon what has happend

to the old mans leg, he vowed

never to ride a caballo again in this lifetime

or atleast what he spoke before sweet drink

made its way around the table at

the great hall of duke

the cinco minuto exspresso

talking political jargon

supposedly a mexican composition

done from los angeles telepathically

who could say? we had noone on hand

to verify personally, so we took

their word for it and proceeded

to donate the requested $6000 USD

needed for the bond

after growing up

the only way they knew peace

was to return to the chaos

of upbringing circumstance

via bus-station or jukebox circlings

where’s the kid with the chemicals

an entourage of questionable characters

could they be in cahoots with the coca-chewers?

nightingdale

a cross examination

octopi-like tendencies, gallow-like

2,3,4,trimethyloxyphenethylamine

what do ya mean ya dont like me cookin?

just another passing fix, eh?

or does G-d owe you the world?

shady grove, my little love

shady grove I know

(9)

I couldnt vouch for leftie

i told him, look man

if you want to find savage henry

then your going to have

to get out of vegas immediately

past pahrump theres an old dirt-road

with a blown out station wagon

rusted onto the side of the desert trench

about a half mile from the road

its where all the vegans go

and the freakers that couldnt

make it slab-city

you have to go it alone

or they will never let ya in

he stood and thought

to himself for a moment

contemplating the ifs

he’d been up for 3 days

on the way down from tijuana

clasping tight to the leather satchel

cutting his hair first

then secondly make up as a disguise

a paved road pointing west

no money down

it was paid entirely in credit

they packed up the hitch

then stopped at smokeys

we found a stray out by the highway

took her with us

we wanted to name her sally at first

but after some tequila we agreed on darcy

blues players on the am radio

right as we crossed

the county into mississippi

(18)

paying the pod piper

is that it?

is that all you think were doing here immanuel?

siphoning bionical hyponotics

psychotic lovers of sorts

a tangoist

we recoiled & waited out our hunch

disaster letters scattered the garage

stupendous timing, the left one

her stills sitting at home

gathering rootbark

tidying up dust off her pictures

from the guadalajara borrachera saga

now succumb to the twiddling

of thumbs & paperveiw

not so bad after all

taking a drag from the spliff

welcome to the after after hours club

cuddle up

make yourself a drink

(14)

wise men gathering drinking manischewitz

in the circled fountain

at the center of cemetery

down on Lutz & Vanderbelt,

hither here, their betting on something clear

must be some sort of lunar cycle round concerning

the daughter of the rabbi- & whats this?

im getting something, their telling me something

about the queen of scotts in new york

for a wedding,

they were engaged at the pyramids & apparently

the spirits followed them all the way

from those catacombs hibiscus scented lettering

on all postage sent during the brief but intense

time they shared together in giza

we hence fourth proceeded to down and out drown

ourselves in a sort of giant pool of margaritas

ah yes, full gang in company alliance

we couldnt pool it all in without a bbq basket

of easter eggs & pints of aether

some for ourselves and of course

a dashing ration for th fellas back east

(7)

heres a sandian fully

who translates themselves

into gibberish hymns

heres a telecaster with an iron heart

falling again for the damsel in distress

experimenting with cardiac typhic fever

rippling with exponential dopamine hits

oxytocin out the whaa-zoo

a thickening sludge like quality

spills across the temporal landscape

& after some years no effect

at the finger tips & extremities

come the decade and a half mark

sadly no effect at all

packing the bags toward sicilia

where the tormented sagas had begun

back there at bar stool love affair

where whiskey with beelzebub

dressed us tango and took us for

love-fools around the ringer margarita

tri-ad of lux intermediaries

egyptianism believers in crux

& crocadirro headed entities alike

like light fixtures opalescent

by the horizon lines at dusk

woozy and tactile like in their demeanor

never skipping a beat

& darting up the ley lines to latitudes

just south of a texas free for all

(17)

papelito del computadora

honey made me

statues incubating amoebi

sand dollars sand dollars sand dollars

last call no deals

squealing salemen

mile runners hobos

& the elderly

all gathered hastily

in red valley california

we pulled into town deep night

the evening before

woke up by the side of the highway

in an inlet near the woods

some poor fella living in a campsite

not far off the road

comes asking to barter

food if i had it

because they had all the marijuana

they could ever smoke

but were short on munchies

i checked the reserve & did a quick inventory

whilst ransacking the rig

in search for lost totem from africa

which recovered shortly after

however met its fate on

an evening that july in the depths of summer

first pass through taos new mexico

a fare place to part ways i suppose

letting go of sentimentality

ridden objects redirects the focus

on an inner remembering

an inner knowing of powers

easy to say when your free

but upon stumbling one wakes up

to find a wise mans blessing

brought by horseback beneath

a shooting star yet again

granted only of course

on the assumption on the fact

that one makes his way back

casket-cases filled with budweiser

wasted minded billionaires recoil backwards

staggering into the work bench

but not on impulse or to search for

a desire lost in ethers of childhood

back there a thousand lifetimes ago

in the shmegma where we lost our head

my head ended up on datura beside the highway

benzedrine lake and all the hiccup ghosts

we tamed nightly by the cross-reaches

of our hometown & the beach that was

accessible fifteen minutes

small runs down to the corner store

to purchase truckers speed

that same poison of the desert here too

then there too

gigantic myths that we use like

a snake who self germinates

to write the world in its way

to tell our myths

(22)

0 notes

realcowboysridecock · 1 year ago

Text

Yayyyy tag game

Locker room bully- destroy boys

Tournier dans la vide- indila

Northern Line- Bob vylan

XTC- hell on earth

Hiccup- sorry mom

Paul- big thief

Bite the hand- boygenius

Guided by angels- amyl and the sniffers

Honey- Samia

Sister militia- rickshaw billies burger patrol

@pisskink-denier @graydiostation

@faggottranssexual tagged me to post the first 10 songs on my spotify On Repeat playlist. thx for the tag dominic <333

scene five – with ears to see and eyes to hear — sleeping with sirens

i dreamt we spoke again — death cab for cutie

malice in wonderland — fangbanger

the resurrectionist, or an existential crisis in c# — frank iero

degausser — brand new

fire of unknown origin — blue oyster cult

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redwallthoughts · 8 years ago

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Redwall Midwinter Miracle: Day 2 Part 1

Shoutout to @raphcrow for all her help beta reading this chapter. It would not be nearly as good without her help.

FF.net; AO3

Rose awoke to the sound of Sister Amyl moving about the room. She was surprised that she had slept so soundly. Ever since Marshank, she'd had trouble sleeping in unfamiliar places without Martin around to keep watch. The realization of where she was and who she'd found the night before hit her almost as hard as she'd hit the wall at Marshank. She was glad that Sister Amyl wasn't looking, otherwise the kindly mousemaid might have seen the few tears that slipped down Rose's cheeks.

A quick brush of her paw was all it took to remove any trace of tears, and then she was up with a yawn and a stretch. Spending the night in a warm bed had done her joints good, she felt, allowing her to rise and dress without the aid of her crutches. She was tying on her headscarf when she noticed Sister Amyl's curious stare.

"I must apologize for being rude," Sister Amyl said, "But I couldn't help but notice the scar along the back of your neck."

Rose smiled at Sister Amyl. "I don't mind." Sitting down on edge of the bed, she explained. "Many seasons ago I became involved in a war near my home. A tyrant had lived on the coast, a few days journey from us, for many seasons. He was using slaves to build a fortress, with plans to rule the northeastern coast."

Sister Amyl nodded, and Rose recalled the tale from the night before. From what she'd heard, Tsarmina had set herself up to be an even worse tyrant than Badrang, although not quite as sound-minded.

Rose continued, "My brother was captured by the tyrant's horde one day while he was wandering, and I followed him to the fortress to try and rescue him..." She faltered for a moment, torn between explaining how she had met Martin or skipping over that fact and explaining it later. Realizing that Sister Amyl was still waiting for her to continue, she decided to leave out the part Martin had played. "That's when we realized it was only a matter of time before our home would be discovered. We joined with the slaves we freed, and many woodlanders, to fight back against the horde. We won, but the final battle claimed many lives. I very nearly died myself. The moles had dug a tunnel into the back of the fortress, and the tyrant thought he could use it as a way to escape. I ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he threw me against the wall." Rose paused and looked at Sister Amyl, trying to gauge her reaction.

Sister Amyl gave Rose a strange look, but did not question her. Rose continued, "They actually did think I was dead at first. I can't blame them. My brother, Brome, was the only trained healer we had, and even he was inexperienced in dealing with war. He'd already lost so many creatures important to him, I think he must have convinced himself that I was dead too. In the end, it was his decision to take me back home that saved my life, otherwise I might have been buried alive. Brome had to cut my scalp open at the back to relieve the pressure from all the internal bleeding I suffered. By all rights I should have died that day. I got lucky instead."

"I see," Sister Amyl said. "I suppose you're a bit like our Martin, then." Rose looked up sharply, and Sister Amyl laughed softly before explaining. "Don't tell Gonff I told you. He likes to keep newcomers in the dark until the end of the tale during the fourth feast. Martin went off after Tsarmina on his own. Her troops were stranded on the other side of Kotir, but she was still dangerous and he was already injured. I'm told that Gonff thought he was dead when they found him, lying there in the mud unconscious and covered with blood. It's a miracle that he survived at all." She hesitated and looked at Rose. "I suppose that's why I don't find it hard to believe your story," she said. "I only saw the extent of Martin's wounds once, when I was helping Abbess Germaine tend to him, but it was terrible to see. I've never known any other creature to lay so long at death's door and still recover." She fell silent, and the two maids sat together for a moment before stirring.

Sister Amyl was first to rise, shaking her head as if to clear it. "Well," she said, "I suppose I'd best get on with my chores now. Holiday or not, there's still sheets to be washed and clothes to be folded."

"Is there anything I can do?" Rose said, standing. "I'd hate to sit around all day when others are working."

Sister Amyl smiled at her. "How are you with children?"

"I like children," Rose said, not entirely certain why Sister Amyl was asking.

"Good. Then you can help watch the dibbuns."

The dibbuns, Rose found, were waiting impatiently in great hall. Bella and Rowanoak stood at the far end of the hall, each with a paw on the door handles. They kept the door firmly shut against the pleading requests of the dibbuns.

"'Urry up an' open th' door Miz Bella!"

"Us'ns wanna go out an' play!"

"Burr, oi bain't afeared o' 'ee cold."

"Please Miz Bella! We'll stay out of the way, we promise!"

The last unlikely statement came from Gonfflet, whom Rose recognized from the night before. Bella shook her great striped head, chuckling at Gonfflet's statement. "The moment we open these door you lot will go tumbling out," she said. "You will wait until Foremole Dinny says the moles have finished packing down the snow and clearing the drifts. Then you may go out." This announcement was met by groans of frustration, and the shrill voice of a tiny mousemaid exclaiming loudly.

"We don' 'ave t' wait for da moles at 'ome!"

"You're not allowed out in the snow on your own anyway, miss Primrose," Rose said, recognizing the voice of her youngest niece. The little maid drooped visibly.

Sister Amyl came to stand next to Rose, frowning slightly. "I didn't realize that the dibbuns would be going outside first thing this morning, are you sure you're okay with watching them? Bella said something last night about the cold bothering your joints."

Rose smiled. "I'll wrap up nice and warm in a cloak," she said, "I should be fine then."

It did not take long before a knock was heard at the doors. Bella pulled her door ajar, and Foremole Dinny could be seen momentarily. Then the doors were flung open and dibbuns poured out onto the white snow. It was a winter wonderland the likes of which Rose had not seen in many seasons. The snow in front of the doors had been pushed to the side and packed down to make a safe space for the dibbuns to play without fear of losing any little ones to deep snow. The sky was clear, though a gentle shower of snow fell from where the wind blew it off the roof. Icicles sparkled in the sunlight, and frost patterned the stained glass windows on the side of great hall. Already the dibbuns were racing about, sliding across the snow on their bellies, jumping off small hillocks into drifts the moles had left untouched, and making plenty of snowballs to throw at each other.

Rose had just settled down on the front steps, wrapped in as many blankets and cloaks as Sister Amyl had been able to to find, when she spotted a familiar face. "Grumm," she called. The stout little mole turned at the sound of her voice, black eyes twinkling as he made his way through the dibbuns to the steps.

"G'mornin' Miz Rozer," Grumm said, tugging his snout.

"Good morning, Grumm," Rose said. "I didn't know you were out and about already."

Grumm smiled, gesturing to the scene before them with a hefty digging claw. "Oi joined ee molers t' clear 'way 'ee snow fer 'ee babbies, bur."

"They certainly seem to be enjoying themselves." She couldn't help but smile as she watched the young woodlanders play. Another mole, slightly shorter than Grumm, came to join them at the steps.

"G'day to 'ee zur, marm," he said.

"G'day to 'ee, zur," Grumm said, tugging his snout.

"Be you'm coomin' in wi' ee travelin' players las' noight?" the mole asked.

Rose nodded. "We were passing by the Gingivere farm just as they were heading out, so they asked us if we would like to join them." She smiled at the mole. "My name is Rose, and this is Grumm."

"Oi be Dinny," Dinny said. He turned to Grumm. "Thankee fer thoi 'elp clearin' 'ee snow."

"Et were moi pleasure," Grumm said.

Dinny grinned. "May'aps you'm c'n 'elp oi wi' clearin' a bit more snow? Et's driftered into turrible 'igh piles boi 'ee wall."

"Oi'd be 'appy to," Grumm said. The two moles waddled off, leaving Rose with her thoughts and the dibbuns.

The dibbuns were rather well behaved, Rose found. Though they pelted each other with snow, nobeast came to any harm. A few of the older dibbuns had begun pushing their younger comrades around in makeshift sleds. Keyla and Tulgrew's three sons, Felldoh, Hillgorse, and Juniper, had already made several new friends, and were running about as though they'd lived at Redwall their entire lives.

Rose did not notice the moles returning until the dibbuns set up a cry.

"Th' moles are back!"

"Alla snow be clearered 'way?"

"G'mornin' Unca Martin."

"Uncle Martin! Did you see the snowball I threw at Perrin?"

"Did you bring it, Uncle Martin?"

"Did you, Uncle Martin? Did you?"

Rose was not surprised to see Gonfflet and Chugger emerge from the crowd of dibbuns to walk behind Martin, clearly curious about whatever he was carrying. The warrior chuckled and continued walking toward the steps. He was carrying something under his cloak, though Rose could not make out what it was. "Good morning," she said when he reached the steps, accompanied by Dinny and Grumm, along with a host of dibbuns.

"Good morning, Miss Rose." Martin nodded to her. "Are you out here supervising the dibbuns?"

"I am," Rose said. "I didn't see you earlier, were you helping the moles clear away the snow?" She spared a glance toward the dibbuns, who were now crowding around behind Martin. Several were hopping on their toes in anticipation, and Rose could see a twinkle in Martin's eye. He was purposefully ignoring the babes to heighten the suspense of whatever he had brought with him, something Keyla did on a regular basis.

Dinny chuckled. "Burr, no marm. Marthen were stuck in 'ee gatehouse, buried by 'ee snow. We'm just dug 'im out."

Martin sighed and shook his head. "Looks like I'll be moving indoors for the winter if the snow keeps falling like it has." He began unstrapping his sword, which he was wearing across the back of his cloak. Taking it carefully from his back, he set it down next to Rose.

Rose allowed herself a brief glance at the sword. She'd never seen it up close before. The ruby set into the pommel caught her eye almost immediately. It was a deep blood-red, cut so that it reflected the light no matter how one looked at it. It was, Rose decided, the most impressive feature of the sword that she could see, although she could not compare it to the blade as it was sheathed in a scabbard of hard black leather. She felt a strange detachment, trying to reconcile that the sword Martin had sought after for so long was now sitting next to her on the steps.

Dinny nodded knowingly to Martin. "Oi'll tell Miz Belle tha' you'm'll be movin' in'o 'ee cellar in 'ee evenin'," he said. "We'm c'n move thoi things t'morrow."

"Thank you, Din," Martin said. He waved briefly to the moles as they trundled inside, then turned to face the crowd of dibbuns. "Well now," he said, smiling. "What could you all be waiting for? Is there somebeast still inside?"

Gonfflet ran forward, practically vibrating in anticipation. "Did you bring the shield?" he cried.

Martin laughed and pulled the bulky item from under his cloak. "I certainly did," he said. The shield was small and round with a simple design. The only real ornament was the large 'M' emblazoned on the front. Rose could see two straps attached to the back of the shield, presumably for holding on to it in battle. Martin had been carrying the shield with a rope strung through the two straps and tied in a loose circle which he slung over his shoulder. After removing his cloak, Martin untied the rope and set the shield upside-down on the snow. "Who wants to go first?" he said.

Scattered whispers broke out among the dibbuns as they dared each other to be the first on the shield until Chugger settled the matter. The young squirrel settled himself in the middle of the shield with his paws locked firmly into the arm straps. "I'm ready, Uncle Martin," he said. Martin nodded, then suddenly set off at a run, towing the shield and Chugger behind him. Chugger whooped and hollered, yelling for Martin to go faster. They circled around the area the moles had packed down, snow flying everywhere, before coming to a stop next to the steps. Chugger rolled off, still laughing as a little hedgehog climbed onto the shield. Martin made certain the babe had a tight grip on the straps, then he took off again on his circuit around the main lawn.

It seemed that this was a traditional midwinter game. Every dibbun who was old enough to recall the winter before hurried to fill in the newcomers on what to hold on to and why. Martin made round after round on the packed snow, sometimes towing two, or even three little ones on the shield. Rose could not help but laugh with the dibbuns. They were thoroughly enjoying themselves, as was Martin, it seemed. The warrior mouse joined in with the laughter and hollering, sometimes calling out when he was about to turn and other times just veering sideways suddenly. He always called the turn when the littlest dibbuns were on the shield, though.

Finally, after what had to be Chugger's fifth ride, Martin stopped and sat down on the steps next to Rose, saying, "Go off and play for a while, you lot. I need to catch my breath." The dibbuns obeyed, running back to whatever games they had been playing before Martin joined them. All except Keyla and Tulgrew's sons and Chugger, who still lay laughing in the snow.

Felldoh, the eldest of the three otters, bounded up to Martin. He stood watching the warrior mouse catch his breath before asking, "Why does everybeast call you uncle?"

His brother, Juniper, joined him. "Chug was calling you Uncle last night, too," he said. "Why? You're obviously not his uncle."

Martin, who was no longer gasping for breath, chuckled and said, "Chugger's the one who started it. Why don't you ask him?"

The three otters turned to look at the squirrel, who was still on the ground laughing. Mayflower, Keyla and Tulgrew's daughter, came over to join Martin and Rose on the steps, looking on curiously as her brothers approached Chugger.

It took Chugger a few moments to get her laughter under control, and even then he would break into giggles every few words. "Ahahahahaha. Martin's the one who suggested it. Hehehehehe. My parents were gone when he found me, hahaha. Hehehe, so since Martin doesn't have a family, hahahahahaha,and I don't have a family, hehehehehe, I decided he was going to be my uncle. Hahahaha, isn't that right, Uncle Martin!"

Martin nodded, shaking his head at the chuckling squirrel. "Most of the other dibbuns picked it up from him," he said.

Mayflower nodded, having caught onto what her brothers were asking about. "I see," she said. "So it's like how we all call Auntie Rose 'Auntie', even though she isn't really our auntie."

"Can we call you Uncle Martin, too?" Felldoh asked.

Martin shrugged. "I don't mind," he said.

"Uncle Martin," Juniper began chanting as he spun around in the snow. "Uncle Martin. Uncle Martin."

Martin turned to Hillgorse, who was frowning slightly. "You don't look convinced."

Hillgorse shook his head. "Chug also told us that he's got four grandpas, but that's impossible."

Martin grinned. "No, he's right. Chugger does indeed have four grandfathers."

Now it was Rose's turn to be sceptical. "How in the name of seasons did he manage that?"

"He's an orphan," Martin answered. "I was part of a group that traveled to the north the summer before last. We found Chugger during our journey, and of course we couldn't leave a toddler on his own in the forest. Chugger's been creating his own family ever since."

"I suppose that makes sense," Hillgorse said. "Why were you in the north?"

Martin's smile seemed to falter slightly, and Rose noticed a far away look in his eyes. "I was born in the north, but I came south when I was very young. I decided it was time that I found out what had happened to my tribe, so a group of us went north."

"You're from the north?" Juniper asked, still spinning. Martin nodded. The young otter came to a sudden halt and hopped up on the step between Martin and Rose. "Uncle Martin," he said, suddenly serious, "Have you ever met Auntie Rose before?"

Rose was taken aback by the sudden question, but Martin took it in stride. "You'd have to ask her," he said. "I don't remember meeting her before, but that doesn't mean that I haven't." Rose nearly choked on air, frantically reminding herself that Martin did not remember his time in the north.

"Why's that?" Mayflower asked.

"I can't remember much of my life from before coming to Mossflower," Martin answered. He stared vacantly at his paws for a moment, before turning to smile at Rose and say, "Though I would certainly hope never to forget such a pretty face as yours."

Rose couldn't help herself, she blushed. Martin was up and off to play with the dibbuns again before she could respond. Felldoh, Hillgorse, Juniper, and Chugger bounded off after him, laughing and cheering. Mayflower stayed behind, eyeing Rose suspiciously. "He likes you," she said.

Rose blushed even more. "I'm sure it's not that," she said quickly. Mayflower shook her head, and went off to join the others.

Left alone on the steps, Rose tried to cool her burning cheeks. It had been seasons since she had allowed herself to think finding Martin, but nothing she had imagined had prepared her for this. There was the sound of the door opening behind her, and then Brome was standing next to her.

"How is it that you always end up watching the dibbuns?" he asked, chuckling.

Rose nodded noncommittally. It wasn't as if Brome didn't know the answer. She was good with dibbuns, so she had become the go to for many parents in Noonvale.

Brome wasn't taking her silence for an answer. "Alright, spit it out, Rose."

Rose shook her head and looked at him as he sat down next to her. "Spit what out?"

"You didn't even notice Primrose falling into the snowbank just now, and you're staring at the battlements as though you want to fight them. What's wrong?"

Rose sighed. "I fell in love with a memory, and it's come back to haunt me," she said.

"Martin?" Brome nodded at the warrior mouse, who was engaged in an unevenly matched snowball fight.

"It's been 22 seasons, Brome," Rose said. "Besides that, he doesn't even remember me."

Brome let the silence hang between them for a long moment as they watched Gonfflet and Chugger team up with Felldoh, Hillgorse, and Juniper. "You've never shown interest in anybeast else," he said finally.

Rose shook her head. "I knew him for 14 days, Brome. Every scenario I've imagined has been based on those 14 days." She sighed. "We're not the same mice who met at Marshank. I've changed since that summer, so have you, and so has Martin. He was so serious then, so full of pent up anger and rage. But now," she paused to watch the snowball fight, "Now he seems so happy. I've never seen him smile like that before."

Brome nodded. "He certainly does seem happy here," he murmured. "Do you think it would be right of us? To make him remember all the horrible things about Marshank?"

Rose sighed. "I don't know," she said.

There was a shout from the lawn, and the two mice looked up in time to see Tintin nail Martin in the face with a snowball. Martin sat down hard, brushing snow from his face with a dazed expression. Little Primrose ran up to him, trying valiantly to return her brother's snowball. The little snowball fell to the ground before crossing half the distance. Shaking his head to clear it, Martin swung Primrose onto his shoulders and took off after Tintin.

Brome shook his head and smiled. "How could Papa have ever thought Martin was a threat?" he said.

"He didn't know Martin," Rose answered simply. "I don't think either of us truly knew him either. We only knew him while he was preoccupied with rescuing the other slaves. We never saw him during peacetime."

Gonfflet and Chugger had joined up with Tintin and pounced on Martin from behind. The warrior mouse fell face first into the snow, tossing Primrose into a snowdrift where she landed harmlessly rather than being crushed beneath the falling adult. The dibbuns were upon him immediately, burying him under the snow.

With a sigh, Brome stood, calling out over the chaos, "Breakfast time."

The dibbuns left off burying Martin in a mad scramble to the doors, tripping over tails, cloaks, and footpaws in their hurry. Brome was swept inside with the first wave, yelling for the dibbuns to take off their cloaks before descending on cavern hole. Rose watched them go, laughing at the harmless fun of the youngsters before she started to gather up the cloaks and blankets wrapped around her. She jumped at the sound of Martin resurfacing from the pile the dibbuns had buried him under, shaking his head to rid himself of snow. Chuckling quietly, he made his way over to the snowdrift where Primrose was still sitting. The little maid giggled as he pulled her from the snow and carried her over to the steps, where Rose, Gonfflet, and Chugger were waiting for them.

Rose shook her head as she gathered the last of the blankets. Martin certainly hadn't been so carefree when she knew him before, but she was glad that he had been able to adjust to a peaceful life. Bracing herself against the steps, she pushed upward. Pain shot through her footpaws and she fell back with a gasp, dropping the blankets and clutching her aching limbs.

"Are you alright?" Martin asked. He hurried forward, setting Primrose on the step and kneeling down.

"I'll be fine," Rose gritted out from between clenched teeth. She paused a moment to compose herself, then said, "You go on ahead, I'll be down soon."

"Are yore footpaws 'urting agin, Auntie Rose?" Primrose asked.

Rose nodded. "I'll be fine," she repeated.

Martin did not look convinced. "Chugger, can you carry my shield?" he said to the young squirrel. Chugger nodded and took the shield. Martin picked up the cloaks Rose had dropped and handed them to Gonfflet, together with Rose's crutches, then began buckling on his sword.

"What are you doing?" Rose asked, watching her crutches disappear from her reach.

Before she could react, Martin had scooped her up, carrying her indoors with Chugger, Gonfflet, and Primrose following behind. Once inside, he leaned against the heavy doors until they closed, then carefully set Rose down so that her back was against the wall. Chugger and Gonfflet waited a few moments, until Martin told them, "Go on ahead, we'll catch up in a minute." The two youngsters nodded and left after depositing their things next to Martin, although Primrose stayed behind. Martin watched them go, then turned to Rose and began rubbing the life back into her footpaws. Rose winced as pins and needles prickled her footpaws, but it seemed to be helping. After a few minutes, Martin stopped and helped her to stand. "How's that?" he asked, handing the crutches to her.

"Still a bit sore." Rose took the crutches and leaned on them. She gave Martin a small smile. "It's better, though. Thank you."

Primrose tugged on Martin's tunic. "'ow'd you know wha' t' do?" she asked.

Martin smiled at her. "I had to learn a few seasons ago. The cold tends to set into the bones after a creature's been wounded."

"You been 'urt like Auntie b'fore?" The little maid stared at the warrior with wide eyes.

Martin knelt so that he was level with Primrose. "I have," he said quietly. "War is a terrible thing, even when fought for a just cause. The scars of war can stay with a creature for long seasons after, sometimes for the rest of their lives."

Primrose tilted her head to the side. "If it 'urts you, den why'd ya fight?"

Martin ruffled her ears gently with his paw. "I fought so that youngsters like you could have a better life," he said. "My scars hurt from time to time, but it's worth it when I see dibbuns growing up happy and free."

Primrose nodded, as though deciding that this was a good answer. As Martin stood, she pointed to the sword strapped across his back. "D' you still fight?"

Martin shook his head, retrieving his shield from where Chugger had set it against the wall and hanging it from his sword belt. "Not anymore. I gave up the warrior's life last winter."

"Why?" Primrose wanted to know.

"Mossflower is peaceful now," Martin explained. "We have no need of battles and wars." Primrose considered this, then opened her mouth to speak. She was interrupted by a loud growl from her stomach. Martin chuckled. "It sounds like we're overdue at breakfast," he said. Together, he and Rose folded the blankets and cloaks, then placed them in an alcove to be put away later.

Primrose tugged on Martin's tunic again, this time holding her arms up. "Up please," she said.

"Primrose," Rose scolded, "You're old enough to walk on your own."

Martin swung the little maid onto his shoulders, laughing gently. "She's still small enough to be carried." The three mice crossed great hall with Rose's laughter ringing about them.

#Redwall #Redwall fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #Redwall story #story #Redwall Midwinter Miracle #Martin the Warrior #Martin #Rose of Noonvale #Rose #Laterose of Noonvale #Laterose #Primrose #Gonfflet #Chugger #Sister Amyl

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